


Macaroni and Cheese

by amaradangeli



Series: We Made It [2]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Cooking, Episode: s03e12 Jolinar's Memories, Episode: s03e13 The Devil You Know, F/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 06:23:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1459222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaradangeli/pseuds/amaradangeli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After rescuing her father from Netu, Sam shows up at Jack's with Colby cheese and symbiote issues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Macaroni and Cheese

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: So this is happening, apparently. It’s another “Sam shows up with food… sort of,” story. This one comes right after Jolinar’s Memories/The Devil You Know.
> 
> There are literally five other things I’m supposed to be writing right now – three of them for a grade – but this idea isn’t leaving me alone. Apparently rewatching Stargate is good for getting the creative juices flowing.
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/semiresponsive1/35747237832/in/album-72157683563675853/)  
> Artwork by Samantha-Carter-is-my-muse

He’s not really surprised when she shows up after the very next mission.  Daniel lost his wife, then she almost lost her father, they were all tortured with memories of their worst moments, so she hands him a brick of Colby with a sheepish look and he ushers her through to the kitchen.

He pours her a glass of the wine he bought – a red blend in a kitschy bottle he’ll never admit to having tried the first time of his own volition – and then regards the block of cheese dubiously. At least last time she’d brought meat. In the end he hands her the cheese along with a nub of sharp cheddar and a hunk of Parmesan from the back corner of his freezer, a cheese grater and a bowl. 

He’s got water on to boil before she speaks. “I’m going away with Dad for a couple of days.”

“Good.”  He rummages through his pantry and finds pasta and breadcrumbs.

“I guess,” she says and peels the plastic away from the cheddar. 

“You don’t sound very excited to spend some time with your dad.  Whose life we just saved, at great peril to our own, by the way.”

“The blood of Sokar made me remember things I wish I hadn’t.”

He salts the water.  “Yeah.  Me too.”

“I thought I’d dealt with all the Jolinar memories,” she finishes the cheddar and knocks her knuckle against the shredder. She hisses, examines it, determines she’s uninjured and reaches for the Colby.

He can’t leave it though, and dumps the pasta and breadcrumbs onto the counter before nudging the cheese and utensil out of her hands. He holds her right hand in both of his and examines her fingers too closely for a nonexistent injury. But he just watched as she was hauled off several times and tortured for information so he’s giving himself a pass. She sits quietly and lets him run the pads of his fingers over her knuckles like it’s okay.  With her left hand she sips his better wine.

“I wouldn’t have though Jolinar’s memories were all bad,” he says in an attempt to keep things from getting too heavy, but his voice isn’t as light as he’d hoped it would be.

“Not all of them were,” she concedes. “Doesn’t mean I was comfortable seeing them.  But I was talking about my own memories.  And maybe a little about the shock of some of hers.”

He finally drops her hand and turns back to the stove where the water’s finally showing signs of life in the form of tiny bubbles clinging to the sides of the pot.  He sticks the end of his index finger into the water and pulls it back quickly. Not boiling, but definitely hot.

Behind him, she says, “I can’t believe I’d forgotten what it felt like to find out about my mom.”

“You didn’t forget,” he says but finds he can’t look at her.  “You learned to deal with it. And you can’t go through life feeling that pain, that strongly every day.”

“Or you might go on a suicide mission through the Stargate?” she supplies and sounds like she’s kicking herself by the end of the sentence.

He turns and looks her in the eye. “Yes.”

She blushes and then pays closer attention to cheese shredding than he thinks he’s ever seen.  He watches while she shreds a lot more cheese than they’re going to need and then takes the Colby out of her hand and replaces it with the Parm. She just keeps shredding.

At his back he feels the water start to boil so he dumps the pasta in then pulls out another saucepan.  He’s finished the roux before she speaks again.

“If things had happened even a little bit differently, I wouldn’t have joined the Air Force.”

“Would you bring me the milk?” he asks when he’s not sure how to respond.

She puts a half-gallon in his hand and he finds it’s already opened.  He pours in what looks like a right amount and hands it back.

“Carter, if you hadn’t joined the Air Force, we’d probably all be dead.”

“That’s a lot of pressure to put on one person.”

“You’re a superhero,” he says with a shrug. “Deal with it.”

“I don’t want to be a superhero,” she says and then hands him the bowl of cheese.  “I want to be fourteen and I want to finish those cookies.  And maybe grow up to be an astronaut who gets to travel through the Stargate to other planets in a galaxy where there aren’t any Goa’uld.”

“It’s a nice story,” he says and slowly stirs his sauce until it’s smooth and creamy.  He mixes in a dash of hot sauce for good measure and then turns the heat down to low underneath it until the pasta’s done.

She stands aside and watches him drain the pasta, add the cheese sauce, pour the mixture into a casserole dish, top it all with breadcrumbs he mixed with a little olive oil, and then slide it all into the oven.  When he’s done, she hands him a glass of wine and follows him into the living room. They sit; he notices she’s brought the bottle.

They haven’t even started talking yet by the time they both need a refill.  He pours so she talks.  “I’ve never baked cookies since that day.”

“Not for nothing, Carter, but I’m not sure that’s a bad thing.”

“I always really liked baking,” she says sadly.

“You’re not exactly long on time these days,” he says in what he hopes is a helpful way.

“I’ve got nothing _but_ time,” she says. 

And he thinks he sort of understands. Because when he’s not in the mountain, not on a mission, he’s got nothing but time, too.

She doesn’t say much after that, and he’s not sure how to not be an asshole when it comes to figuring out what’s going on in a woman’s head – especially when he can’t use sex to coax out whatever it she’s feeling. He’s always been a lot better with his hands than he is with his words and that extends to every part of his life. He finds himself in the weird limbo where he wants to do things with her that he _can’t_ do with her, but she keeps looking at him like she’s just a woman and he’s just a man and he knows she’s not even doing it on purpose.

When he can smell their dinner he knows it’s done and he shepherds her into the dining room where she takes the seat she took the first time – the one he usually sits in, coincidentally. A few moments later he brings her a steaming plate of macaroni and cheese and watches as she carefully separates the elbows from one another so they’ll cool more quickly.

“It’s good that you’re going away with your dad,” he says, bringing them full circle in forty minutes.

“I guess so.  I don’t really know what to say to him.”

“He’s your dad.  You don’t have to say anything to him.  Just spend some time with him.”

“What if he asks about Martouf?”

“He won’t.”  Jack knows he won’t because Jack wouldn’t if she didn’t keep bringing him up. Jacob didn’t want to hear about _feelings_ any more than Jack did – though for entirely different reasons if he had to guess.

She twirls her wineglass in by the stem and he watches the red liquid swirl around.  When he’d bought the wine he hadn’t just ingested a trippy Goa’uld brew, but he finds he’s not too bothered by the comparison.  Either way, he’s thinking things he shouldn’t be thinking but still resisting saying them.

She takes a bite.  “Wow.  This is really good.”

“It’s macaroni and cheese, Carter. Not magic.”

“I eat a lot of yogurt and popcorn, sir. This is _really_ good.”

They’ve switched back to the _sir_ portion of the evening so he finally feels like he’s back on solid ground.  He still has no idea why she appeared on his doorstep.  Not really, anyway.  But, like last time, she seems to have found what she was looking for without much help from him. 

Either way, he finds himself hunting for interesting additions to his pantry next time he’s at the grocery store – surprising ingredients and another good bottle of wine.


End file.
